Shady Lady by Ann Aguirre Page B

water; white spume sprayed in its wake as if it were propelled by fire-extinguisher foam. A large awning shaded the boat, which he piloted from the back. It was a bit battered but seaworthy. This vessel could hold eight more people, but we’d hired a private tour.
    “He’s ten minutes late,” Kel said.
    That was pretty good. In the city, if I scheduled an appointment with a repairman, I’d be lucky if he showed up on the promised day. Punctuality was an individual judgment more than a social imperative.
    “How much is this costing me?” I whispered, as the boatman pulled up. The prow nudged the cement rim gently, and the man leapt onto shore with rope in hand. Steps led down into the launch, making it easy for us to board.
    The other man answered—so he understood some English. “Four hundred pesos.”
    That was reasonable, thirty bucks or so, depending on the exchange rate. Catemaco wasn’t a big tourist spot, so they hadn’t jacked up the prices. The food probably wouldn’t cost a fortune while we were here, either. Good thing, as the pawnshop took care of Shannon and me, but I wasn’t rich.
    I peeled off a couple of bills and passed them over, and the boatman beamed at me. His teeth were very white in a sun-weathered face. “Me llamo Ernesto. Bienvenidos.”
    As we boarded, he seemed so pleased, chattering about the sights he would show us, including Monkey Island, that I couldn’t bring myself to cut him off. So we listened while he practiced his English until he came to a word he didn’t know, and then he substituted in Spanish.
    Obligingly, I supplied the word for him. “Monkeys.”
    I always found it funny that there were two words for monkey in Spanish: chango and mono . I’d asked if one meant ape, but though chango was more slang, it still meant monkey. Spanish was weird that way: two words for monkey, and esposas meant both wives and handcuffs. That said a lot.
    Ernesto had a thick accent. “You’re going to love the Monkey Island.”
    I didn’t share his certainty. Monkeys struck me as sinister, falling under the category of things that looked almost human, but weren’t, really, like dolls and clowns—all creepy in my book.
    Shannon looked so small from this distance, capped with a shock of black hair; she waved from the balcony as we got under way. I waved back and took a seat in the middle when the boat accelerated. Ernesto was still talking. We would stop first at the city market, he said, and for a mere fifty pesos more, he would disembark to buy fresh fruit for us to feed the monkeys.
    I glanced at Kel, who murmured, “It might be best if we let him give us the regular tour in addition to going to see Nalleli. That way, our destination isn’t so singular.”
    And we wouldn’t stand out in his memory if someone questioned him later. It made sense, though I wasn’t keen on the delay. There must be other tourists who asked to visit Nalleli. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure how we’d find her.
    “Do we know which island she’s on?” I asked in a whisper.
    “I’m sure he does,” he answered, tilting his head back toward our guide.
    It made sense. The island witch might be the only true curandera —or bruja , depending on the type of magick she practiced—in the area, though Catemaco was famous for its witches and warlocks. But tourism dictated that most were performers and charlatans more than true practitioners. I needed someone with real power, and I hoped Tia knew what she was talking about.
    The boat gathered speed, leaping out toward the middle of the lake. Wind whipped across my face, and Butch popped his head out of my bag. I clutched him to my chest. If he got overly excited and jumped, I’d never see him again in a lake this size. It was enormous .
    Buildings on the shore looked strange and exotic—as we neared the zócalo , a gold cathedral edged in red caught my eye. It rose above the palm and mangrove trees, and the brightpainted boats that crouched at its feet seemed as